Heathens
by itzarazorblade
Summary: Have you ever seen or done something and experienced deja vu so violently, with such intense nostalgia, that you needed to look away? But you couldn't? Maybe because it was too painful or maybe...it was just too perfect and you felt like if you looked away it would crack and shatter at your feet. That's what it felt like when Dean looked at anything.
1. Take it Slow

/works/7371739/chapters/16743661  
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Have you ever seen or done something and experienced deja vu so violently, with such intense nostalgia, that you needed to look away?  
But you couldn't?

Maybe because it was too painful or maybe...it was just too perfect and you felt like if you looked away it would crack and shatter at your feet.

That's what it felt like when Dean looked at anything. Even things he was positive he'd never seen before, even PEOPLE he was certain he'd never seen before. It all reminded him of what he shattered in his hands, what he'd cracked beneath his lips.  
Out of all the things to come he felt, in his young age, that this was what would damn them to hell.

It's not to say that what he'd been looking at is ugly or bad. It's to say that it's painful, and cold, after the memory of the happiness and warmth wore off.

Have you ever gotten the feeling that while you walk down the street, everyone is looking at you?  
Because Dean always got stared at, I mean, have you seen him? But this was unsettling.  
The ones staring… he could tell they knew. That they could see the sin inside of him. The ones looking away were almost worse. They were obviously so disgusted they couldn't even look at him.

Autumn was always Deans favourite season. He normally walked around the walkways beaming at everyone like it was the best day that ever was. And the way that the leaves look normally, that completely ineffable green, identifiable only as the way you could tell autumn was coming in? Theyre all stained with the acid teardrops from summer as it leaves, burning drips of fire onto the ineffable.  
Or were those his as he walked down the sidewalk, staring at a leaf he'd caught.

He was caustic. Poisonous. Dangerous.  
He was supposed to take care of him.  
What had he done?

The first time it happened, Sams moral gauge went haywire. He was 13 and him and Dean were bored and so Dean jumped on to Sams back while Sam was putting on his shirt. It started out with some grapples and some things that Dean swears is kung-fu. Dean slammed Sam onto the floor as Sam hysterically laughed. His laughter slowed when he realized Dean was just sitting there, straddling him. Nose to nose.

Sam smiled,

"Hey, are you ok?"

He chuckled.

"I didn't actually hurt your little princess skin did-"

Dean mashed his lips into Sams clumsy and powerful, grabbing the sides of Sams face so he couldn't turn away.  
Sam shoved Dean off of him and scooted away so quickly that it made an audible noise. He covered his mouth and looked at Dean, utterly appalled...but behind his hand he licked his lips.

If anyone on the outside bothered to think about it, it was a long time coming. After that, they didn't speak to each other for….well as long as you can not speak to the only other person you're squeezed into a car or motel room with 24/7.

One night, John hit the sauce a little too hard and when he asked Dean, "why the fuck can't you just sleep in the queen bed with Sam" because he just wanted to pass out drunk in the living room watching tv, Dean wouldn't answer him. He just stood there. Blood rushing to his face, turning red.  
He turned and looked at Sammy...  
"I'm too old to be sharing a bed with my brother it's...it's gay, man"  
John looked at him, half angry drunk, half confused, "I swear to god if you don't get out of my sight, boy-"  
Sam sighed and continued to pretend to sleep.

The next instance was just as brief, except it wasn't violent, it was soft.  
It was Sam's birthday, they had gone back to speaking as if nothing happened. It had been a year and a few months, Sam was turning 14. But their father had forgotten. No time for celebration when there was a wild Djinn running around.  
As they ran out of the house, Dean made sure his father was running towards the car after throwing some sigils on the door to protect Sammy.

Dean turned to sam, bag full of guns and stakes, he pinched Sam's chin and leaned forward, pressing their lips together gently. This time Sam stepped forward and pushed them together as Dean's free hand made its way up to Sam's hair. Sam gripped the front of Dean's jacket and tipped his head to the side, feeling Dean's tongue swipe over his bottom lip once and when Sam thought he couldn't pull Dean in any harder, Dean pulled away.

"We'll be right back."  
Dean smirked  
"Happy birthday Sammy.


	2. Sudden Moves

At 16 he was allowed to start hunting. Around 17 he got his first serious injury; A claw through his side. He was on the sofa of their motel, their dad in the reclining chair, Dean at his side.  
"What did dad tell you, Sammy?"  
Sam sighed  
"Be...careful and-"  
"Take it SLOW" Dean finished.

He dabbed rubbing alcohol over the wound. Sam hissed, their dad just laughed,

"You just wait for the stitches." He got up and dropped a bottle of scotch onto Sam's chest as he sauntered by.  
Dean sighed and shook his head.  
"He's 17, dad"  
John started laughing,  
"You started drinking at 15, oh you thought I didn't know." He shut the door behind him.  
Dean just shook his head.  
"Well then Sammy", Dean looked up, clearly forcing a smile.  
"Take a couple swigs and we'll get on with the stitches."

After more than a couple, disgusting, burning 'swigs', and a whole lot of screaming, Dean was done.  
"Hey, at least you've got a cool scar now haha, chicks dig scars."  
"God" Sam laughed, knocking back a couple more gulps,  
"You know I don't give a flying fuck what 'chicks dig' Dean." Sam turned his twinkling drunk eyes towards Dean.  
"What about you?"

Dean cocked his head to the side  
"O-Of course man, you know me."  
"Yea… haha. Of course" Sam said as his head rolled to the side, eyes sliding shut briefly and the scotch slipping out of his hand. Dean grabbed the bottle before it hit the floor.  
"WOOPS" Sammy laughed as he cringed and sat up, holding his side.  
"Guess I'm just all thumbs tonight!"  
Sam leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Deans. They both just sat there, eyes locked, waiting for the other to do something. Sam took the hand that wasn't holding his side and cupped the back of Dean's head. He ran his fingers through his oddly soft hair. You'd think by looking at it that it would be spikey. Truth be told they couldn't afford gel so Dean just put some water in his hair in the morning and it would stick that way. Sam decided in his inebriated state that it was magic.

"How do you do this with your hair, mine has always just fallen downwards and….flipped at the bottom."  
Dean chuckled,  
"Magic-"  
"It's been… a very long time since…"  
"Look, Sam."  
He grabbed his hand off of the back of his head and set it down on the sofa as he watched Sam's drunken happiness wear off a bit.  
"That never should've happened I… The first two times we were both too young, and now you're drunk and I'm not going to take advantage of you like this."

Sam frowned and lied back down.  
Dean got up and ruffled Sam's hair on his way to their room but when he went to retrieve his hand Sam had grabbed his wrist and pulled him down into a sloppy, drunk kiss. It was wet and messy, uninhibited and desperate. He pushed his tongue into Dean's mouth and naively wiggled it around a bit before Dean took his hand back and tipped Sam's chin up so he could run his tongue along every inch of Sam's mouth. Memorizing it. Thinking he'd never feel it again. He ran hot kisses along Sam's jaw line and Sam giggled. Dean nipped at Sam's neck, making sure not to leave any marks because of their father but god did he want to. He wanted to mark him and own him and keep him safe and happy. Unlike their stupid father who viewed Sam only as a burden. He started to suck right in between Sam's jaw and his neck. Biting a little harder, sucking a little harder. Sam closed his eyes and arched his back up towards the ceiling. He hissed as his stitches pulled and Dean let go, realizing it was too late, he had in fact left a mark.

"Oh god… um...I could buy make up I… SHIT SAMMY what do I do? We have to hide that."  
Sam just laughed.  
"Never should've happened…" he mumbled to himself before he let himself pass out from exhaustion and scotch.

The next morning, Sam was nowhere to be found. He left a note saying he was going to stay with a friend they'd made and finish high school. He asked them not to look for him.  
He was gone, and Dean was the one cracking slowly. Shattering to show the empty, broken vase that should contain his soul.

He drove Sammy away.

His father said good riddance. Called him, told him they were leaving and to not come back. He wouldn't let Dean speak to him on the phone.  
The last thing he heard him say was the echo of his own harsh words. Never should've happened.

He didn't keep too close a track on Sam but he did keep track of him, made sure he was alive. Was proud from a distance as he got into college. Disgustingly jealous when he saw him get a serious girlfriend. Absolutely beaming with pride when he heard about his scores and getting into law school. So proud in fact, he stopped noticing their father had been gone too long.

What a perfect reason to go see his little brother.

He broke in, they rolled around on the floor, fighting before Dean got the best of him in the dark and held him down on the floor.  
"GET THE FUCK OFF ME"  
"Whoa whoa whoa, is that any way to speak to your older brother?"  
"...Dean…?"  
Dean leaned up, still straddling Sam's hips but letting him go,  
"Hey Sammy, I was just trying to find a beer."


End file.
